Lasts.

Searching for images with the keyword 'last' invariably turns up images linked to romance. In the spirit of clear communication, we have landed on this dramatic <possibly> 'last'.

Been thinking about “lasts” lately. The way they sneak up without warning. The last time I saw someone and didn’t know it would be the last. The last conversation with friends that never picked up again. The last walk down a beloved street before moving away. There’s something eerie about how ordinary those moments feel when they’re happening. Nothing signals “this is it.” No music in the background, no pause. Just another day that quietly closes a door that will never be opened again.

Even with small things—like the last time I ordered from a place that ended up shutting down, or the last bus ride on a route that later changed. These small “lasts” pile up too, unnoticed until they’re gone. Makes me wonder which of my current routines will turn into memories without me realizing. When will I last sit in this exact spot, or have this exact version of a conversation, or laugh with someone like this?

Well, although this is the more-dramatic line of thought, in all honesty we do get that feeling in the back of our heads don't we? That inkling that you will probably never do that again, which you push out because you're still young and cannot accept the idea of lasts. But this idea of lasts occurred to me early on in life. And because of that, it looms so large over the entirety of the experience that by the time it does pass, I've grieved it enough to accept it. Wholeheartedly, to be honest. Because everything in your life serves a purpose and when it no longer does, why would it stay?